


The Laughing Ladder

by Pyreflie



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: F/M, Obsession, Reader Has Anger Issues, Reader can be unlikeable, Slow Burnish?, Smut, Stalking, Suicide mention, alot, but its very brief, he needs it, reader can kinda be a dick, we out here getting Arthur laid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:33:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreflie/pseuds/Pyreflie
Summary: You are a world weary, depressed twenty something that moves to Gotham City for a fresh start or whatever the hell that means. You mainly just want to be left alone in the big city but you meet Arthur Fleck on a rainy day and suddenly, alone doesn't work for you anymore.Begins a little before the movie then leads into it with a few minor changes to fit the narrative I've got going.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Reader, Arthur Fleck/You, Joker/Reader, Joker/You
Comments: 22
Kudos: 91





	1. ave maria

"Goddammit!" you exclaimed in frustration as you felt the bottom of the flimsy box give way and your belongings pour out onto the wet pavement with a crash. The people strolling by gave you displeased glances both from the noise and the fact that they now had to walk around or in most cases on your possessions. Stacking the two boxes hadn't been the best idea you knew but with your new apartment buildings elevator out of commission, two trips up six flights of stairs was not something you had wanted on your agenda. 

You heard laughter further down the sidewalk and flicked your eyes to a group of teenagers taking great amusement at your misfortune. Great, an audience. Gritting your teeth you glanced down at your broken things and wondered if you should even bother telling the onlookers to fuck off before swallowing your irritation. The last thing you wanted was to get in a confrontation or to be noticed more than you already were. The whole point of moving to Gotham City was for you to be left the fuck alone and yelling at some kids wouldn't help your coveted objective.

Blowing air out of your mouth and consciously loosening up your shoulders you blocked out all noise and set your still intact box on top of the ruined one at your feet so it wouldn't get soggy. One thing Gotham never lacked along with its supposed apathy was rain, even now a slight drizzle was coating you with droplets of water. You got on your knees, feeling the damp seep through you jeans and began to collect your possessions, trying your best to avoid having your hands stepped on. That ugly ceramic cat statue you convinced yourself you needed from your mothers house was now sans a head and the misshapen pottery bowl you made during your bygone education career was shattered. The long intricate Mary candle that your very Catholic ex-boss had given you had miraculously survived however. "Ave Maria," you whispered staring at it annoyed before you began to shake the excess droplets off and shoved it with more force than necessary into the good box. 

What remained was just minor paraphernalia you had collected over your years of life, most of it ruined so into the nearby trash can it went. All that was left was a few favorite well read paperback books you couldn't fully part with. You winced as you saw them being harshly tread on, footprints stamping the pages that continuously became saturated with water till it was a mushy mess. You reached for the least damaged book, hoping you'd be able to dry it out, when a well polished shoe flattened your hand into the ground, pavement scraping against your skin. A hiss escaped your throat as you cradled your hand to your chest and watched the culprit continue down the street.

"Oi!" you shouted, ignoring the pain in your hand to pick up one of the other ruined books and hurling it at the mans quickly receding back before you could control your anger. The book pathetically landed back on the pavement with a splash, completely missing its oblivious target and inspiring another round of laughter from the puberty peanut gallery. "Oh, shut the fuck up!" you hollered in their direction inciting even more sniggering. Running your fingers through your hair to grip it at your temples, you counted to five silently to calm yourself. It was just one of THOSE days.

Arthur puffed on a cigarette, leg lightly bouncing as he observed your struggle on the sidewalk. He'd been waiting to finish his smoke before walking out into the rain for work and had witnessed the whole ordeal from the moment you had stepped out of a taxi with your boxes. Several times he tried to muster the courage to go over and help, had even hastily rehearsed what he would say and imagined how it would go, but he couldn't get his feet to move. He was slightly intimidated because even at a distance he could tell you were attractive and he didn't have a good track record with women, good looking or not. Hell, he didn't have a good track record with anybody much less a strange woman on the side of the street. Still, he knew what it was like for people to just walk by, to be considered insignificant and he felt a sort of solidarity with you being ignored on the sidewalk. Inhaling the rest of his cig with a deep breath, he flicked the bud into a nearby puddle and exhaled the smoke before steeling his nerves and shuffling his way over to you.

He dodged people as he cut through the slight crowd on the walkway, and picked up the surviving book on the pavement. He tried wiping off the excess moisture and grime with his hands and jacket cuffs as he made his way over to you, aware of his heart beat and the clench in his stomach. As he approached he could hear you muttering under your breath, something to the effect of 'hit by a bus fuckhead'. He agreed, that guy should get hit by a bus for being so rude. _Fuckhead._ People lacked common decency these days.

Thunder rumbled overhead as you rotated around, determined on salvaging at least one of the fucking books when you found the cover thrusted in front of your face. Your gaze flowed from the pale claw like hand holding your book, up the jacketed arm to the face of an older man with floofy brown hair looking at you timidly. Arthur watched you regard him, from his nervous stare to his awkward stance and inwardly flinched at the swift tactful smile you gave before grabbing the book quickly from his hand and looking away. _A mistake._ He shouldn't have come over. _ It was a mistake._ "You're welcome," he mumbled disheartened, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning hurriedly to flee from the situation. He didn't know what he expected but as always, the results were the same.

Guilt struck you and you bit your lip as you watched his hunched form begin to walk away. It wasn't his fault people were assholes and that you were having a bad day. "Sorry, I'm just a little scattered," you called out by way of apology and when he turned back around to face you, you put the book in the box for his benefit even though it was pretty much garbage now. "You didn't have to do that," you said, pushing yourself up from the wet ground as he took a step closer to you. "Thank you." You had to look up at him as you spoke, your head only barely coming to his shoulder. 

"I was happy to," he said softly, eyes roaming over your face. He could tell from far away that you were easy on the eyes but now close up he was captivated by your features and didn't realize he was gawking. People passed by and car honks sounded on the street as awkwardness lapsed between you two but Arthur didn't notice. He was focused on the smudge of red near your forehead. His eyes followed the small blood drop as it dribbled down your face to halt at your jaw a mere moment before dripping onto the pavement. _Breathtaking._ "You're bleeding," he said, absentmindedly tracing the trajectory of the streak on his own face with his fingers. Your brows furrowed and you wiped your palm across your cheek where he indicated, smearing the blood onto your hand. It had come from the cuts on your skin when you had clutched your hair in frustration. 

"So I am," you frowned, observing the light wounds inflicted from the harsh concrete. They weren't really bleeding anymore but the drizzle from the sky was causing the coagulated blood to wash away in tiny mesmerizing rivulets. Thunder boomed overhead and you looked up at the sky reflexively then back at the man who was staring at your bleeding hand. Huh. Not being able to think of anything to say, you flashed another polite smile,"Well, thanks again." With that you bent to pick up your remaining box.  


Arthur didn't want the conversation to be over, if you could even call it that. If you left now, you would think he was just a weird guy like everyone else. _A freak. _He racked his brain despairing for something to say before glancing at the box at your feet. "Are you...moving in?" he asked hesitantly gesturing and your eyes followed his long pointer finger to the derelict building you were standing in front of. 

"Oh, uh, yeah. Do you also live here?" you asked to be polite. You were really ready to get inside off the street before it super rained, take a nice hot shower and pretend other people didn't exist but you also didn't want to be a _ complete_ asshole.  


He nodded and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "I live on the sixth floor." He pulled a cig out and offered the pack out to you but you shook your head and pointed to the sky to signal the oncoming rain. Arthur glanced up at the dark clouds and mentally cursed at himself. _Stupid stupid stupid._ He gave you a apprehensive smile as he re pocketed the cigs and awkwardly crossed his arms across his middle before uncrossing and shoving them in his pockets. You didn't know why he was so nervous but maybe he was just a fidgety guy.

"Guess that'll make us a neighbors," you responded, taking your eyes off Arthur to roam the building. God, you hated small talk but you also didn't want to piss off the people you would be sharing a living area with. Or maybe you did, if only so they would leave you alone. Still, you told yourself Arthur hadn't done anything to you and had even helped you in Gotham City, a place notorious for fending for yourself. Mustering up the last crumbs of positivity you possessed, you sat down your box and wiped your wet and bloody hands against your jeans before holding your hand out and introducing yourself. 

"Arthur, Arthur Fleck," he replied, hesitating a second before mimicking your hand wiping and engulfing your small hand with one of his own in a cold, firm grip. He felt a rush of delight at how soft and warm your hands were against his own, despite the chill in the air. 

"Arthur," you repeated softly, giving your clasped hands a pump up and down and he secretly reveled at the sound of his name coming from your lips. The storm clouds above broke slightly, brightening the air and you were momentarily taken in by Arthur's distinct green eyes looking at your hand. The shaft of light illuminated his iris's and the thought crossed your mind that his green eyes were the most vivid color you've seen so far in this drab city. You didn't look away from his face as he turned your hand over to observe your scrapes with a concerned expression and you felt his thumb gently rub against one of the cuts causing you to suck in a deep breath in an unexpected response. "Asshole," he muttered, thinking of the man that had stepped on you and had just sauntered on like it was nothing. How anyone could just stroll by you baffled him.

You removed your hand from his grip, mind beset with a myriad of emotions. You didn't know what you were feeling, if it was good or bad, but you were done interacting for the day. "Well, I'll see you around Arthur," you said lamely, hoisting the box off the ground finally. You nodded to him before rapidly making your way up the steps to the front of the building. You wanted to be somewhere quiet, somewhere _ alone._

"See you," Arthur's voice carried across the way and you momentarily looked back to watch him shamble down the street in an uneven gait, shoulders hunched in an attempt to fend of the sprinkles of rain. Shaking your head, you put the strange man out of your mind as you entered the building just as the heavens opened up and rain began pouring down. If you had looked again, you would have seen Arthur glancing back at the place you had been standing. Several times.

You took deep breaths, fighting for your life as you finally reached your floor. "Shit," you gasped, leaning against the wall. Hopefully that fucking elevator would be fixed soon because a cardio regimen was not about to become part of your life. Using the banister to balance your remaining box, you dug out your key ring with two shiny new keys on it and headed to your apartment. You still couldn't quite believe how lucky you were in getting a "decent" place in the city. You knew a guy who knew a guy who owed some favors and voila, a fully furnished apartment at a reduced rate. The reduction came from the fact that an old man had recently killed himself in the bedroom of said apartment and had been somewhat of a hoarder. Apparently folks in Gotham City were superstitious and didn't quite like living in a place where someone had just died. You didn't care. If old man Jenkins wanted to claim his dirty apartment back from beyond the grave he was welcome to try. Your savings had been drained getting this place and there was no way you were going to get a better deal anywhere else.

You opened the door with a hard shove and flicked on the light as you stepped into your new home for the first time. Some people would of called it small and dingy or as the owner had put it, quaint and well used. Truly, it was somewhere in between. Either way, you felt a slight rush of excitement. A new place that was all your own, without any former memories, good or bad. 

You walked over to the half counter between the living room and kitchen to set your belongings down, getting a better look at the place. The kitchen walls had a floral print that was ripped in a few places while the living room was a faded dark maroon that had lightened outlines where previous furniture had stood. The carpet had to be pulled up before you moved in and you could see mystery stains on the worn wooden floor. You tried not to think about it. Fully furnished, you found, consisted of the basics, things that were salvageable and deemed fit for use left by the deceased. A dated tv that probably only received 5 channels, and a red, fraying couch that had seen better days with a coffee table that looked like it would fall apart if you even so much as sneezed at it made up the living room. The kitchen had all the regular devices and you were happy to see the fridge worked. 

Your next step was the only bedroom which had a single bed that looked like it came out of an asylum. You lifted the moth eaten quilt that had been left to your nose and gave it a light sniff. They said the previous owner had died in the bed and you didn't want your blankets and sheets smelling like dead old man. You only smelled the aroma of the musty however so you let it drop with a shrug. It had probably been replaced. Probably. The only bathroom was small but in working order and suffcient for your needs. You went back into the kitchen and leaned against the counter after the quick tour, just basking in the emptiness and solitude. It wasn't great but it wasn't bad either. You weren't going to complain, it was yours and yours alone and as far as you were concerned it was heaven. Your gaze alighted on the yellow paisley curtains hanging from the windows behind the couch and you felt your eyes narrow. You would of killed yourself too if you had to stare at those ugly things all fucking day.

So what did you do in the first few days of your new life? Sleep. You slept in the noisy bed that creaked every time you moved and you slept on the dusty old couch with tv static as a backdrop just to mix it up. You woke to order take out to eat and to use the bathroom but otherwise you were happy to just sleep unbothered into oblivion. 

You gave yourself three days to not exist and then you took the next step of your new life in Gotham by looking for a job. As a college drop out, you had always worked menial low wage jobs and that's what you expected to find here since you couldn't magically produce a degree. You didn't really care where you worked anyway, any job would suck ass, you just wanted to be able to pay your bills. You shuffled into the hallway and pilfered one of your neighbors newspapers and laid it on the counter as you removed your food from the small microwave. Left over chinese for breakfast. Yum. You circled a few promising ads as you ate, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead. After you were done eating, you dressed nice but comfortably, bundled up in a jacket, grabbed the newspaper and went out into the city.

The first few places yielding negative results but you expected that due to Gotham's low employment rate and didn't let it discourage you. You tried several more places before you came upon a dingy tobacco shack only a few blocks from your apartment building. You had worked at a similar place before so you felt confident as you introduced yourself to the owner, a man in his early fifties named Christopher who looked like he needed to be on prozac. He was desperate for help because the place had a high quit rate due to the clientele the place attracted. "Unsavory types," he had said. You assured him you had worked this kind of job before and could handle pain in the ass customers. You didn't know if he believed you but he had pretty much hired you on the spot regardless. You immediately began working, with Christopher showing you how the place ran, where things were, and where he kept a fucking gun under the counter _'just in case'. _You're eyebrows raised at that one but you guessed it was better to have some sort of protection than not in a place like Gotham. You fell into a familiar rhythm between work and home and while you couldn't say you were happy per se, at least you weren't miserable.

"Buncha vultures," you muttered, straightening up the candy and chip aisle. The lunch rush had just finished and it was the wonderful grace period between school getting out and work ending where things were settling down for a bit and dare you say, slow. To save yourself from boredom and the huge amount of closing work you would have to do later, you were organizing the mess the flurry of people had left. You sat on the floor cross legged to rest your feet, zoned out in your task as you wondered what kind of chucklefuck would put Skittles next to Hershey's. _Absolute madness._ So lost in the mindless process, you jumped when you heard the little bell above the door ring, signaling someone had entered the shop.

With a low groan, you uncrossed your legs and stood, straightening out the over sized button up shirt that consisted of your uniform. Your feet pounded as you walked around the corner of the aisle but you stopped short when you saw who was at the checkout counter. It was that man who had helped you days ago, what was his name? Arthur. Arthur Fleck. You hadn't seen him since that day in the rain, too busy working and sleeping. You had tried to push the bizarre meeting from your mind, but knowing that he supposedly lived in your building, your floor even, had caused the memory to wiggle back to your thoughts every time you left your apartment, wondering if you would run into him.

You eyed him as you walked behind the counter, taking in more details than you had that day. He was tall, tall and skinny with a head full of unkempt wavy brown hair. The clothes he wore were nice but much too big for his thin frame and had both a boyish air and old man feel to them. You made it behind the counter and stood across from him, waiting for him to notice you. Would he recall your encounter? Did you want him to? Your meeting had been pretty peculiar but maybe that was just usual for Arthur and you were just another person in his day for him. It wouldn't bother you if he didn't remember you, maybe even that was for the better. You didn't want to get particularly chummy with anyone. 

Arthur mumbled the name of his normal pack of cheap cigarettes, not bothering to look at the cashier. He didn't want to see the rebuff on their faces. Everyone here thought he was weird, he knew but this place had the most inexpensive cigarettes and was on the way home so he tried to minimize his presence as best he could and be brisk about the whole transaction. He laid a few dollars bills on the counter top and weighted it down with change, laying his whole hand flat against the money as he slid it across the surface, watching the cars go by in the street. You raised your eyebrows at his lack of awareness and reached up to pull a pack down from the overhead rack. You extended your arm out to hand it to him, content to just let him take his cigs and go but as soon as his fingers began to close around the package, you jerked it up in the air out of his reach. His head shot up sharply to glare at you before recognition hit him and his features softened into one of disbelief. "Bout time," you teased, satisfied at his reaction, holding the pack back out to him. "Small world huh?"

"It's you," he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he reached up to grasp the cigarettes, fingers lightly grazing against yours. He had hoped he would see you again, had watched for you every time he left and entered the building but you were nowhere to be found. He began to worry he had imagined the whole thing and was relieved that you actually existed. "You...work here?" he asked. What were the chances, that you now worked at the place he bought his cigs every few days. 

"Yeah, I aced the written so they hired me immediately," you joked, ringing up the purchase and counting out the money from the counter. Exact change, nice. Arthur let out a loud chuckle that wasn't merited of your lame joke and you lightly shook your head. Odd man but you couldn't help but be slightly piqued. You slammed the register, then crossed your arms to lean on the counter nonchalantly as you took in more of one Mr. Fleck. He wasn't what people would typically call attractive, his face was gaunt and he had a scar above his lip and a slightly large nose but he wasn't unattractive either. Striking would have been a better way to describe him, at least to you. Especially his eyes that gazed at you unfaltering. Before, when he hadn't realized it was you behind the counter, he had preoccupied himself with staring out at the street but now you found you were the center of his attention. You told yourself you didn't like that. 

"I could tell you a joke," he blurted out randomly, and he saw surprise flash across your face. Arthur wanted to make you smile, a bona fide smile, and he wanted to make you laugh. He bet your were even prettier when you laughed.

"Oh yeah? Shoot," you said, humoring him. Most people just barked at you for their nicotine and left without so much as a thank you. Not that you really cared, the quicker people got in and got out the better in your mind, but you were intrigued by Arthur and his quirky mannerisms and you wanted to hear what kind of joke he would tell. 

He let out a jittery giggle and couldn't look you in the eye as he started, stopped, and started again. You thought it was kinda endearing how nervous he was, as if he wanted to get the presentation just right. 

"What does the...what does the cannibal do after he eats a vegetable?" he finally stuttered out between restrained chuckles, looking at you expectantly. You shrugged your shoulders and waited for the punchline.

"He goes to a pawnshop to see how much he can get for the wheelchair."

You were baffled for a second before the joke sunk in, then it was like a light bulb went off and a stream of giggles escaped your lips at how corny and lame. The more you thought about it, the more stupid and funny it got till you were genuinely laughing. Arthur watched your face break into a huge grin and donned one himself as he laughed at his own joke. He was elated at his success and he savored the smile that lit up your face. Now that was _stunning._ Then he felt _it_, the tickle at the back of his throat. _No. No please no. Not here. Not now._

You wiped the corner of your eye with your thumb as a few more chuckles escaped you. You hadn't laughed like that in awhile and you were long overdue. It felt good. You cleared your throat a few times as the laughter died on your lips but you noticed Arthur kept on, his chuckles rising higher in octave and growing more wild. As you watched, his face contorted into one of dread and his eyes began to water, tears spilling out to run down his cheeks. You'd think he was choking if it wasn't for the stream of laughter that spewed from him uncontrollably.

"Are you okay!?" you cried, feeling dumb. Of course he wasn't okay, but you also had no fucking idea what was going on. He tried to speak, but was cut off by another guffaw escaping him. He shook his head and raised one hand to his throat, clutching desperately as the other hand covered his mouth, trying to muffle his laughter. "Do you need water?" you were growing increasingly confused and worried. You wanted to do something, anything instead of feeling useless.

He shook his head again and removed the hand at his throat to fumble around in one of his sweater pockets to produce a laminated card. He held it out, laughter bubbling off his lips but eyes silently pleading with you. You snatched it from his unsteady hand and looked at him for a few seconds to make sure he wasn't going to keel over before reading the card. _'Please excuse my laughter. I have a condition.' _You flipped it over to read the back that went more in depth in explanation, saying it was neurological.

Your eyes flicked from the card to him and back to the card before you set it down in front of you. Honestly, you didn't think you would have believed him but Arthur looked so completely miserable as he tried to get himself under control that you couldn't think it was fake. You stood lamely with your arms at your sides, trying not to stare but failing as he attempted to stop laughing, ugly choking noises spilling from him as he wrapped his arms around himself protectively. 

After a moment, he swallowed a huge gulp of air and cleared his throat, unfurling himself to brace his hands against the counter pane. "I'm...I'm sorry," he said breathily, stooping over to look at the ground as he composed himself. He hated it, hated himself, hated that it happened in front of you. Just once he wanted something to go the way he fucking _imagined. _He slammed his palm loudly against the counter in outrage, causing you to jump.

"S'okay," you said weakly, heart beating rapidly as you watched his back heave with each huge breath he took. What else could you say? Somehow_ 'that must suck'_ didn't seem _quite_ right. Abruptly, he pushed himself away from the counter and stood up straight, craning his neck back to the ceiling with his eyes closed as he shakily consumed another lungful of air. You waited patiently but you were growing anxious, you didn't want another customer coming in and you counted yourself lucky no one had already been in the store to begin with. You didn't know what Arthur would do or how someone else would respond to...his condition.

Arthur opened his eyes to stare at the pack of cigarettes on the counter. He couldn't look at you, he didn't want to see the pity or unease that his laughing fits normally inspired. You had smiled so _prettily_ before and he'd ruined it because _that was what Arthur Fleck did._ Sighing, he snatched the pack from the plastic surface and turned to leave. "You have a beautiful smile," he said lowly, before swiftly making his way to the door and out onto the busy sidewalk.

You stood dumbfounded by the chain of events that had just transpired and it wasn't until the bell rang above the door again signaling Arthur had left, that you broke out of your befuddled stupor and comprehended what he had said. _'You have a beautiful smile.'_

You raised your fingers to your lips and traced them lightly, thinking of Arthur's compliment as you stared at the card he had forgotten on the counter top. Slowly, a shy smile emerged under you fingers and you looked out into the street after the eccentric laughing man.

With a groan, you fell onto the creaky mattress of your bed still fully clothed in jeans and jacket, and buried your face in the stale blankets. Finally you were off your throbbing feet for the day and you never wanted to walk again. A slight moan escaped your lips as you kicked off you shoes and shimmied up to the head of the bed where your pillow was. All you wanted to do was sleep after the busy day you had. And it had been busy. After Arthur had left business quickly picked back up and kept you running til closing time. Your feet ached and you were mentally exhausted from putting on a happy face all day.

Thinking of Arthur, you flipped over onto your back and stared at the water damaged ceiling. You hadn't had time to really think about him for the rest of the day but the encounter had been sitting in the back of your mind. You wondered how often his laughing fits happened and if something triggered it. Did _you _do something? You didn't think so. You dug in your jacket and pulled out the card that he had left, forgotten. If he had these it must happen pretty regularly. 

You contemplated the card and its owner. People didn't interest you much, at least getting to know people didn't interest you much. You were never one to have many friends and you were perfectly happy to be by yourself the more time went on. Arthur though, he was an anomaly. The way he looked, the way he spoke, his mannerisms. He was...different and not just because of his condition. Most people you found bothersome but he was the first person to make you laugh in a long time, even though the joke was entirely stupid, and you appreciated that. 

You didn't think you were attractive but even the most unfortunate looking of cashiers got hit on. Men seemed to take advantage of the position you had, forcing you to be polite, to try to flirt their way into your pants. None genuinely tried to make you laugh for laughter's sake, there was always ulterior motive. _'You have a beautiful smile.' _

You rolled over onto your side and yawned as you sat the card on your rickety nightstand. You eyes fluttered closed as drowsiness overtook you and as you slipped off into sweet oblivion, your mind was consumed with Arthur Fleck.

And somewhere in the same building complex, Arthur Fleck was thinking about you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup yup yup. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. It was mostly set up, having you meet Arthur and establishing your presence and stuff. Next chapter leads into the movie with you along for the ride. As for my other story if anyone from there is reading this, I do plan to continue it. I had to stop for a little while but I'm back. Just gotta find my notebook where I written down all the plot stuff. As always I'm not completely happy with how this turned out but I wanted to get it out before the clown fuckery died down. Anyways, see all you lovely people next chapter I hope~~~


	2. gratia plena

Another day, another dollar you thought as you trudged up the dilapidated stairs. The elevator hadn’t been repaired yet because of course it fucking hadn’t. Plus side was at least you felt less guilty about all that candy you ate at work. Downside was you had to freeze longer because apparently heating wasn’t a human right in this building. You dragged your feet down the hallway and stopped in front of your door, little puffs of cold air coming from your chattering mouth. You leaned your forehead against the worn wood as you dug your keys out, hands shivering as you looped through the key ring to find your door key.  


As you jimmied the key into the lock in a rush, dreams of your warm multiple blanket bedecked bed dancing in your vision, the ghost of a laugh echoed down the hallway. You paused, your mind instantly going to a certain curly haired man that couldn’t control that certain function, but you dismissed the thought just as quick. Other people laughed for crying out loud but you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about Arthur every time you overheard a wayward chuckle. He hadn’t returned to the store since that day and while you reasoned that wasn’t your problem, you still kept an eye out for him whenever you moseyed around the apartment complex. You didn’t want to talk really, more like a visual confirmation that he was okay so your brain would stop nagging you. Yeah, that was it.  


Another muffled chuckle reverberated down the hallway and you bit your lip as you looked left and right, all ears in an attempt to try to pinpoint where the sound came from despite yourself. Nothing. You shook your head feeling silly. The laughter probably didn’t even come from Arthur, though his laugh was unequivocal and you had ruminated on it enough to be able to make the distinction. But it wasn’t your problem you reminded yourself. You opened your door with a harsh shove, fully intent on an exciting evening of sub-par take out and living in a blanket turtle shell as you watched one of the three channels on your tv before passing out for the night, completely chortle free.  


You'd scarcely stepped over the threshold when a different noise reached your ears from your left, a scuttling with a whoosh accompanied by the loud proclamation of, “Shut the fuck up!" before a door hammered shut. Sentiments of the like followed from various points down the hall but you honed in on the rapid, bubbling laughter that devolved into sobs in the wake of all the shouts.  


_'You have a beautiful smile.'_  


_Goddammit._  


You stepped back and slammed the door shut, locking the knob again before shoving your keys forcefully into your jacket pocket along with your freezing hands. You made your way steadily down the corridor, shoes making light taps against the grungy linoleum as you followed the pitiful sounding laughter. You didn’t have too far to go for as you rounded the corner about five doors down from yours, you came precariously close to stumbling over a crouched figure. You righted yourself and took in the sight of Arthur sitting on the floor, back to the wall with legs drawn up, head down as he rested his forehead against one of his knees, body racked with restraint as he tried and failed to hold in his erratic chuckles.  


An unfamiliar pang of sympathy surged through you and you chewed on your lip, unsure if you really wanted to engage with the distressed man. You were probably one of the last people that should of been offering solace since comfort wasn’t really your forte but you didn’t come all the way down the hall just to gawk. Mind racing with partial thoughts, you bent slightly at the waist and reached out with your hand for his shoulder in a preemptive supportive gesture. "Are you okay?" you asked calmly as your fingers brushed against his worn jacket.  


His body startled with a quick, jolting convulsion at your voice and touch, lurching to the side. He flung out a hand to smack against the dirty floor near your feet, steadying himself before his whole body toppled over into your legs. You stood up straight, hands to yourself as you hastily stepped back to allow him more room. You didn't want to crowd the guy. His head jerked up with a laugh on his lips to peek at you from behind his disheveled brown hair and your eyes widened as you took in his battered and bleeding face.  


A gash above his brow dribbled blood down his cheek, mixing with the blood from his busted lip in a smeared concoction along the right side of his face. Beginnings of bruising began to pepper along his jaw and down his throat to his clavicle, disappearing under the collar of his ripped shirt. On top of his discernible injuries, he appeared to have a light dusting of dirt and gravel along his hair and clothes.  


"What happened?" you whispered gently, eyebrows furrowing as you squatted down on your heels to get a closer look at his wounds. He eyed your troubled expression for a moment before turning his head quickly with an uncontrolled laugh to hide from your scrutinizing gaze. He centered his eyes on the floor in front of him as he pulled down the cuffs of his jacket to conceal his equally bloody hands. More anxious laughter escaped him, a slight gush of blood coming from the split in his lip with each successive chuckle.  


"I...," he started then faltered, breathing in sharply as he struggled to hold down another bout of laughter. "I...fell on the way home," he eventually managed to rasp out, blinking rapidly at the floor, chest rising and falling with shallow pants. You frowned as you watched him concentrate on contorting his mouth in an effort to keep his lips sealed. Sure, he fell, right into someone’s fist you didn’t doubt, eyeing the purple flower like bruise blossoming on his cheek. If he wanted to say otherwise though, you weren’t going to contradict him.  


"Okay...so you fell," you conceded, “Why are you sitting in the hallway?"  


His eyes rebounded from you to the floor back to his fidgeting hands, uneasy. "My mother...," he said through gritted teeth, “she would...," another laugh, another deep breath as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back to thump against the wall, giving you a better view of his discolored jawline and long neck. "She would freak out."  


His mother. Understanding overcame you as you watched him convulse, trying to hold in his laughter bitterly frustrated. He must of lived with her, that was why he couldn’t go to his apartment and instead had camped out in the cold, filthy hallway. Any mother worth her salt would indeed freak out if they saw their child looking like Arthur did.  


As you consider your next course of action, the door across the hallway was suddenly thrown open, revealing a graying older lady leaning on a cane. She leered at you from behind her bi-focals before directing her hateful scowl to Arthur as the abrupt appearance spurned even more unruly laughter from him. "Can you shut him the fuck up?" she barked harshly, turning her scrutiny back to you.  


You looked at her incredulously, at the lack of tolerance. Residents of the building had to know about Arthur, about his condition. He didn't want to be in the hallway getting yelled at by asshole people anymore than they did. Your eyes narrowed as her unforgiving rubbernecking shifted once again to him. You stood quickly, fist clenched, and took a step into her line of sight, effectively blocking the crumpled man on the floor from her view. "Why don't you go mind your old ass business?" you bit out, returning her glare with one of your own. She glowered at you, you glowered at her in some bitchy battle of wills till with a huff, she stepped back and slammed the door closed. Oh yeah, old ladies tremble in fear, you were bad ass. You heard the sound of a lock then the rising blare of the tv climbing higher behind the door.  


You stuck your tongue out in childish retaliation before turning back to Arthur. He had resumed his previous position, this time his arms wrapped around his knees to bury his head in some attempt to muffle the sound of his laughter. He seized his jacket tightly, knuckles going white as he fought to get himself under control. You glanced up and down the hallway helplessly, at a loss of what to do. You were too involved to back out now and you couldn’t just leave him in the hallway at the mercy of other impatient residents.  


"Can you stand?" you asked.  


He lifted his head from being buried in his arms and you held out your hand towards him. His eyes flicked from your hand to your face wary and confused, questioning as his lips clamped shut over another outburst. "You can’t stay out here all night," you said half exasperated, wanting him to hurry before you changed your mind. "Your balls will freeze off for one," you joked, “and two, I think people might riot."  


You felt relief as he let out a genuine bark of laughter and you tried to contain the surge of feelings that bolted through you as he locked eyes with yours and raised his hand slowly to slide comfortably into your own. You gave his hand a light squeeze in solidarity and and ignored the flutter in your stomach when he gently squeezed back. You helped tug him to his feet while his other hand used the wall to brace himself as he stood with a low hiss of pain.  


"This way," you said, reluctantly dropping his hand and turning on your heel to make your way back to your apartment. You didn’t wait to see if he followed but you heard his pronounced stride as he stumbled behind you wordlessly. When you reached the front of your door once again, you waited patiently for Arthur to catch up, digging out your key ring. You delayed as you fiddled with your keys, regarding him as he limped towards you, head down. You were about to invite essentially a stranger into your home and a man at that. All the warnings you had heard growing up echoed in your mind but as you watched him trudge obediently up to you, you didn't have the heart to turn him away.  


Once again you were confounded on why Arthur Fleck attracted you so and made you act completely out of character but that was food for thought for another time. He stopped beside you and looked at you from his downcast head, face devoid of any expectations. You bounced on your heels wavering before you took a breath and faced him full on.  


"If you try anything, I can and will hurt you," you asserted, standing up straight in an attempt to make yourself more intimidating than you felt. The effect was mostly lost considering he was taller than you. He was also skinnier so you felt confident about your chances if any potential death match occurred between you two. Not that you suspected Arthur of anything but you could never be too careful.  


“Just..no funny business okay?” you said, holding up a finger sternly. Rather than being offended, the corners of his mouth tipped upward in a hampered smile and he nodded once.  


“Okay,” you copied the nod and unlocked your door, giving Arthur a sheepish look as you used your shoulder to exert extra force in opening the stuck door. “Come on in,” you muttered, flicking on the light switch before the kitchen. “Excuse the mess.” The soft glow from the kitchen unveiled all your dirty laundry thrown carelessly around the apartment and the numerous empty Chinese take out bins littering the counter and coffee table. You hadn’t been too preoccupied with keeping the place clean since you never expected anyone to come over. Arthur was the first person you had invited into the trashy safe space you had created for yourself. The act made you feel vulnerable and you surveyed your living space critically like someone entering your apartment for the first time, such as your guest. You inwardly cringed and started gathering up the containers to stuff into the already overflowing trashcan in a hurried attempt to make the place if not somewhat presentable then at least habitable.  


Arthur shut the door softly behind him and shuffled further into your apartment. He absentmindedly caressed a bloody hand gently against the worn maroon wallpaper that lined your walls as he absorbed your surroundings. He had never been in a woman's apartment before and he didn’t know what he expected. Maybe something akin to his mothers decorative taste but not _this_. Besides the trash and clothes, there was almost no indication of anybody living there. The walls were bare and the furniture was basic and sparse. The apartment lacked personality, pictures and knickknacks and all sorts of things as mementos to a life lived. The only pop of color that stood out was a set of bright yellow curtains over the back window behind the couch. Arthur didn’t pretend to be a man that knew what the ladies liked but those curtains were certainly…a choice. Not a choice he would have made but…  


“You like those?” your voice came from beside him and he peered at you out of the corner of his eye. You were standing so _close_, so familiar in your nonchalance of proximity and he liked it. He liked it a lot. You kept your attention on the curtains and he took the distracted moment to trace the outline of your profile from your forehead, down the slope of your nose, over your puffy lips to the point of your chin and down your neck. You looked at the curtains with a pinched expression of distaste that he found altogether cute but he stopped himself from smiling. You had the best expressions that he had to stop himself often. Even bloody and bruised, Arthur had trouble containing the happiness he felt in your presence.  


“Yeah, they’re okay,” he lied, returning his measured gaze back to the object in question before you noticed his ogling. The curtains really weren't okay in his opinion but far be it from him to insult your terrible taste in decor.  


“Really?” you crinkled your nose disbelievingly then tore your eyes from the atrocities to give Arthur a confused expression.  


One look at your bewildered face and he lost his barely contained composure, the skin of lip splitting apart painfully as a deep natural chuckle escaped him. You really were just too damn cute. “No,” he admitted, looking at you sheepishly, “not really.”  


“Good cause they're ugly as shit,” you giggled without really knowing why. Arthur's laugh, his _authentic_ laugh, was infectious and even though nothing about the situation could be considered comical, you found yourself in a lightened enough mood to laugh at something as simple as ugly ass curtains. You and Arthur chuckled in cohorts for a few more moments. You found his crooked smile charming, even when marred with a busted lip. You noted the fresh blood leaking from the strain of motion and got back to business, breezing past the man as you headed to your bathroom.  


“Take off your jacket and come here,” you said, shedding your own outerwear to toss on the couch. The combination of you stripping a layer of clothing form yourself and heading into the proximity of the bedroom gave off a certain overtone that conjured up an image in his mind, one that he quickly shot down before it fully formed lest his pleasure at such a fantasy become a hefty bulge in his pants. No funny business you had a said, a saying that had amused him to no end considering his profession.  


He heard the creak of a rusted handle and the sound of running water. He carefully peeled off his jacket, a small hiss of pain escaping him as he maneuvered his sore body. Grandeur clown antics would not be in his repertoire in the coming week. He became aware of the tear in his shirt and gave a grunt of annoyance. He didn’t have many, most being hand-me-downs from god knows where, and he couldn’t readily afford to buy new ones.  


Sighing, he hobbled closer to your old couch, not trusting himself to toss anything with his banged up arm and laid his jacket next to yours. Other articles of clothing occupied the cushions and as he set his jacket on the armrest he had to a double take at a pair of underwear laying right in front of him. His breath caught as he became transfixed by the lacy pink pair, crumpled innocently on the cushion. He licked his lips and reached out with one finger, just one, to lightly smooth the edges out so he could get a better look. They weren’t as racy as the ones in the magazines, but they were soft with a line of scalloped lace accenting the small amount of cloth. He had the devilish thought of pocketing them, a treasure to be enjoyed _later_ when he was alone but refrained. That would be funny business. Definitely.  


“Are you coming?” you asked, sticking your head out from the bathroom. Arthur shook himself from the temptation of your underwear and walked over to the bathroom. He couldn't resist the thought of what kind of panty you were wearing under your clothes that very second. Were they like those but a different color? He liked pink, pink was a good color and he imagined they looked delectable on you. He made a fist out of his hand purposefully flexing his muscles to elicit throbs of pain to distract himself from his sinful thoughts. They, like the panties, were for another time. He arrived at the threshold of the bathroom to find you rummaging around in the med cabinet above the sink.  


“Sit,” you commanded, nodding to the covered toilet seat as you closed the mirrored door to the cabinet. Your bathroom was smaller than his own and he had to squeeze past you, your backside almost fully pressed to his chest, very aware of his hands in relation to your hips. His lips came perfectly to the top of your head and as he closed in, he got tickle of your hair on his chin and the scent of your shampoo wafted around him. He breathed deeply as inconspicuous as he could, more details to add to his fantasy.  


Your body tensed, acutely conscious of Arthur's chest sliding against your upper back. Your eyes caught his in the mirror as he moved behind you, his chin brushing the hair on top of your head so much taller was he compared to yourself. The moment lasted milliseconds, but a tingly sensation pulsed throughout your body, only receding when he finally sat without a word on the covered toilet, clasping his shaking hands in his lap.  


You let out a nervous breath then grabbed the washcloth that you had been letting soak in warm water in the sink. You rang out the excess than turned to Arthur with a close-lipped smile, “Let’s assess the damage, shall we?” Hearing no objections, you stepped closer and leaned slightly over for a better look. You started where the blood was messiest, on the right side of his face facing you with the cut above his brow and split lip. You pushed back straying strands of his thick brown hair, and god did he have great hair why did men always get the great hair? and wiped tenderly. He winced at the sting from the hot water then slowly relaxed as you methodically cleaned away the blood and dirt, stopping to rinse the washcloth of grime before continuing. He felt his eyes flutter close as his jaw shuddered loose from being clamped shut. Your fingers slick with warm water would gently rub against his skin as you carefully cleaned his face and his head trailed after their lost touch every time you soaked the washcloth.  


You were so _close_, and you smelled so _good_, he prayed to god this wasn’t a hallucination because it would be the cruelest one yet. You were so _warm_ and _living_ and _beautiful_, and you were paying _attention_ to him, Arthur Fleck. “You’re very kind,” he said, not to break the comfortable bubble of silence that had enveloped you two but because he _needed_ to hear your voice, needed to know that you were really there.  


You held back a snort at his compliment as you dabbed lightly around his jaw. You’d been called many things, but kind wasn’t normally at the top of the list which was fine because you didn’t think of yourself as a kind or even good person. Your current actions could be construed as a kind act in and of itself but was motivated purely by your selfish desire to help Arthur, an excuse to be around him even if you didn’t want to admit it. You doubted you would have reacted similarly to any other semi stranger, content to just mind your own fucking business which you still weren't entirely convinced you should of done anyways.  


“Maybe to those that deserve it,” you said softly, continuing from his jaw to his neck. Excess water dripped from the wash cloth onto his skin and trailed down his neck to soak into the ripped collar of his shirt. There were no cuts you could see but the beginnings of more bruises mottling his skin. _My ass he fell_, you thought.  


Arthur's eyes opened in perplexity and he looked at your concentrated face slightly above his own. “Deserve?” he questioned, a wincing as you accidentally pressed a little to hard against a sore spot between his neck and shoulder.  


“Sorry,” you said quickly, your attention having slipped under the suddenness of his open stare so close to your face. “Not everyone deserves kindness, at least not from me,"you explained, recovering swiftly to answer his earlier question.  


Arthur stared at the chipped wall across from him, eyes falling out of focus as he pondered your statement. He never thought of kindness as something to be _deserved_ or earned but an act freely given. He had often wondered why none was ever given to him. Did he not deserve kindness, maybe even admiration? He had never hurt anyone, thought he enacted revenge in his mind on those who had mistreated him, and he did his best to take care of his mother and to just make people laugh. You were kind, despite what you say, the kindest person he had ever met anyways, and you obviously thought he deserved your kindness. He didn’t understand why, but then again he never understood people. He was just happy you thought he was worthy.  


You reached the torn collar of his shirt and paused, before gently pulling back the ripped section to expose most of his right connecting shoulder and parts of his bony upper back. While there were no open wounds and less bruises, a giant purple mark blossomed down his shoulder blade, the edge of sickly yellow. “Those stairs really kicked your ass, huh?” you whispered, washcloth forgotten as you traced the top outline of the bruise with the tips of your fingers. He shuddered under your touch and you thought you heard a garbled groan, from pain or pleasure you couldn’t tell and you didn't know which you preferred.  


You stood up straight, putting space between you two as you evaluated the result of your ministrations. There was nothing to be done for the bruises and swelling but at least he wasn’t a bloody terrifying mess now. You tossed the stained washcloth down and grabbed a band aid that had seen better days than the bottom of your med cabinet. You smoothed the sticky edges of his brow, covering the worst cut that still bled a little. “There, tip top,” you offered a comforting smile before turning back to the sink to wash your hands. As you hurried so Arthur could wash his hands too it occurred to you that he could of cleaned up his own face but you had done so of own volition. You gripped the sides of the sink in your realization, wondering not for the first time just what in _the fuck_ you were doing. You glanced over at Arthur, who had just finished assessing his own face with his hand. At your look he let it drop and returned your questioning stare with one of his own. _What now?_ You thought on what you had seen of his body, the bony knobs of his spine, his clavicles which stuck out painfully, his shoulder blades littered with purple marks and chewed your lip. Fuck it. “You like Chinese?”

The styrofoam container hit the table with an audible smack, causing Arthur to jump as he sat shyly in one of the two rickety chairs. You pulled out the other chair with a loud scrape before settling across from him, sliding two Tylenol and a plastic fork across the small table. “You'll still hurt like a bitch, but that might help,” you said, opening the top of the container to reveal good ole’ teriyaki saturated noodles. A single serving of msg wasn’t going to beef up the thin man but you wanted to see him eat just a little. Arthur eyed the pills before he picked up and swallowed the tablets one by one.  


“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked, clearing his throat. You shook your head and stood slightly, leaning over the table to reach above Arthur to open to small window a crack for the smoke to escape. It’s not like you were concerned about cleanliness, you thought, wincing once again as you eyed your mess but it had begun to rain because Gotham, and you liked the ambiance. Arthur produced a crumpled back of cigarettes, grabbed one and lit it as you watched out of the corner of your eye, swirling the noodles with your fork. He really was handsome in his own way. It wasn't as evident as some people would think on a first look, but the more you were around him the more you noticed.  


"So..." you started, breaking up the awkward silence, “you know where I work, what do you do?" You were going to take this opportunity to sate your curiosity. Half of you hoped your interest in the man would drop if you unraveled the mystery, the other half was giddy at the thought of learning more about Arthur Fleck, what he was like beyond the superficial surface everyone adopted around new people.  


Arthur angled his jaw to the window and exhaled a cloud of smoke, his leg beginning to bounce under the table in a display of nerves as he stared you across the table. Your question was wholly innocent, a fair trade of knowledge but he was hesitant to tell you his occupation. He wasn’t embarrassed but almost no one took his job seriously besides the workers themselves. Bad enough you already knew he lived with his mother, strike one, but being a professional clown wasn’t awe inspiring unless you were a kid. Strike two. “I work at Has-Has…” he finally answered, taking another nervous drag of his cigarette, “I’m a party clown.”  


You stopped chewing on your food and your eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “No shit,” you said before you could stop yourself, mouth full. Looking across at the tense, timid man there were many things you could of thought as his job, most of them banal and boring but party clown? The answer was so ridiculous and unique but so wholly Arthur you don’t think you could of imagined anything else afterwards.  


“Yes shit. We do parties, hospitals, advertising…” Arthur propped an elbow up on the table next to his forgotten fork and held his hand with the cigarette close to his mouth, so he could take quick puffs in succession. He thought back to the day’s events, the advertisement assignment that had led to him to his current situation. He had been assigned outside a closing shop, his job to broadcast a blowout sale with a sign and general clown shenanigans. Run of the mill work, a normal day. What wasn’t normal was the group of men that had stolen his sign. He had foolishly chased them down, not minding his surroundings when he had been cornered in an alley way and ganged up on, sign splintered across his face to knock him to the ground, so the perpetrators could kick and beat him.  


His boss had blamed him of course, saying he had to return the sign that was currently in pieces on the alley way ground.  


He felt fresh anger at the memory, using his free hand to clutch at his pants under the table. He had just been doing his job, an honest living, and had been assaulted for it. Instead of understanding from his boss and hey maybe even a good job for even trying to get the sign back, he had been derided instead. He had stewed on the long walk home, each painful step renewing his rage over and over again. What he could recall of the men’s faces danced through his mind, well placed bullet holes adorning their foreheads in a balm to soothe his growing rage. He’d almost made it, almost, to his apartment where he could find some semblance of peace from the world when he thought of his mother. She would go even further out of her mind when she saw him, all beaten and bloody, and he dreaded the ensuing fuss she would make. He just wanted to take a shower and sit on his couch that doubled as his bed and log the day as another fun-filled experience in the life of Arthur Fleck and forget about it. He had felt overwhelmed, trapped in the hallway with no where to go when the laughter started. He couldn’t even begin to fight it, his mental fortitude depleted by the events of the day. He had slid down the wall pathetically wishing he was anyone else when you appeared.  


He'd been avoiding you since that day in the store, always careful to spy from his spot across the street at who currently worked before entering. He had grown familiar to the light pole and bus stop that hid him partially from view as he sneakily watched you work from time to time, trying to find the courage to enter and apologize or just talk. He couldn’t. He was used to pity and ridicule, to the misunderstandings and the leers, but he had built up a fantasy of you in his head. One that would come to him, see him on the street and wave him over, beg him for a joke because he was so funny and only he could make you laugh. That would never happen of course, but it was a pretty thought, one he clung to for the time being in a fragile daydream that would come crushing down to whatever true response you would have to his reappearance. He couldn’t, so he didn’t, content to observe you from a distance.  


You did come to him though, not like in his fantasy but you had come nonetheless. You had taken him to your apartment, he still couldn’t believe he was sitting across from you in your apartment, and cleaned him up. You could have passed him up, several people had, but you didn’t. You _saw_ him, truly saw him. Every breath, every movement caused him pain but he welcomed the reminder that he was here, you were here with him, and everything was better than he could of imagined. He would gladly get beat up everyday if it meant intimate time alone with you such as this.  


“Is that fun?” you asked, bringing Arthur back from his thoughts. You speared yourself more noodles and chewed, holding back an undignified laugh at the thought of clown unions less he thought you were poking fun at his job. You never really thought about it, but you would have assumed all clowns worked at a circus or something and were contracted out. That fact that there was a clown corporation was so ridiculous and made you all sorts of amused.  


“It can be,” he answered haltingly, looking for a place to flick the end of his cig. You tapped the mother Mary candle you had settled on the table with your fork, your mouth being too full to answer. “I like making people laugh,” Arthur continued, flicking the ashy end of his cig off the lip of the candle as he stared admiringly at the image engraved on the glass. Was it sacrilege to upend your ashes onto the Mother of Christ? “I’m pursuing a career in stand up comedy.”  


_Well that explained the random joke the other day_, you thought.  


“Well you made me laugh so you must be pretty good at it,” you said between mouthfuls, noting that you were doing all the eating.  


Arthur's smiled stretched from ear to ear as he shyly looked down at the table and you could swear you saw the tips of his ears turning pink. Cute. The table began to tremble, matching the pace of his leg that bounced nervously.  


You hesitated then swallowed your food before asking, “Do I make you nervous Arthur?” Immediately the shaking stopped, and you felt guilty for having put him on the spot but you wanted to know. He puffed on his cigarette, another anxious habit your surmised to replace the bounce, before putting out the butte in the candle. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, but stared intently at the table between you, the pitter patter of the rain outside the only noise breaking the silence as you waited patiently.  


Arthur took a deep breath before answering. “No,” he said, for you didn’t make him nervous in the traditional sense he felt around most people, he didn’t expect you to suddenly turn cruel and mean, but he didn’t understand your motivations, and, in some ways, that was worse. “And yes.” On top of not understanding your motivations, you were an attractive young woman by any measure and you were voluntarily talking to him even after the whole laughter debacle, so yes, that made him very nervous. “I just…,” he began, trying to find the words to express himself in a way that didn’t seem accusatory, “I don’t understand…what you want from me?” he lingered on the me, finally raising his gaze to your own.  


You leaned back in your chair, taken slightly aback by the honesty of the answer. You had wanted to know but you didn’t expect to be faced with the question of the ages. What did you _want_? You _wanted_ not to feel so tired all the time, so fed up with just living day to day in a slog of existence. You _wanted_ to feel something, anything but crushing boredom and numbness with flashes of anger being the only true emotion you could manage to drum up. You _wanted_ to be left alone while simultaneously unable to keep yourself away from the man that sat across from you now without an answer to his question. _What did you want from him?_ “I don’t know,” you said finally, running your fingers through your hair in your own nervous tic. It was your turn as you stared at the table hard, shoulders slump as you sighed defeated. “Do you want to leave?” you asked the table, unable to look at Arthur.  


“No,” he said quickly. That was the last thing he wanted. “It’s just, everyone’s so crazy these days,” he rushed to explain himself, hoping he hadn't misstepped. “You’re different.”  


Different. You’d been called that too; a lot more than you had ever been called kind. You bit your lip and looked up at Arthur in all his earnestness. He meant the word as a special trait, not the derogatory name it was usually known for and why were you so different to him? Because you had been nice to him. That you simply showed him a modicum of respect and compassion merited the miraculous title of different made you uncomfortable, unable to hold yourself to the lofty connotations of what it meant to Arthur. Your instinct made you want to disabuse him of the notion, to reject the responsibility if only because you were afraid of upholding it, of letting him down. “I can be crazy, just like anyone else”.  


“You’re not,” he declared with conviction, “you’re not like anyone else.” There was no shyness in Arthur as he professed this like a fact, green eyes pinning you in the chair. You felt your cheeks warm under his riveting stare and you had to avert your eyes to the forgotten Chinese food on the table to stop feeling so overwhelmed. You could almost believe you were special with declarations like that.  


“Neither are you,” you shot back lightly, meeting his gaze again once you felt you had control over your emotions. A smile accompanied the compliment you gave, one he returned, and you enjoyed the small moment for what it was, two people finding an odd comraderie of silent understanding that they couldn’t find in others.  


"Also, eat some of this shit please,” you said, breaking your flustered stare to pick your fork back up, using it to indicate the meal between you, “I slaved a whole three minutes warming it up in the microwave.”  


“Yes mam,” Arthur grinned wolfishly, finally picking up his fork to take a small bite of food. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.  


The rest of the meal continued in a light-hearted manner, conversation meandering to nothing in particular but always interesting. You bitched about your job, Arthur made you laugh with his corny jokes, you learned more about his condition, he asked about your life before Gotham. All in all, it was a nice normal conversation between two people getting to know one another and for something so ordinary, for once, you could wait to go to bed.  


“I’m telling you, watch that Randall guy,” you semi joked as you walked your guest to the door of your apartment. The time was getting late and you both had work tomorrow so even though the stories, the laughs, and the haves and have nots were no where close to slowing down, like all good things, the night had to end. With reluctance you opened the door to a gust of chilly air from the hallway, standing aside so Arthur could walk through.  


“That was…I had…” he struggled, wondering how he could possibly articulate what the momentous occasion had meant to him. He didn’t want to come off as overzealous, but it was hard to contain the pure joy he felt. “Thank you,” he finally settled on, “for everything.”  


“You’re welcome, “you responded, taking a step to simultaneously close the door and be closer to him. You couldn’t remember the last time you had so effortlessly held a conversation, when the mere act of talking didn’t feel like a chore. Enjoying someone’s company was nice for a change. “It was nice talking to you.”  


“We should…do it again sometime,” Arthur felt brave enough to say and was elated when you nodded.  


“Goodnight, Arthur. Try not to fall anymore, I can’t fix a broken leg,” you joked, shutting the door till only a cracked remained for you to peep out of.  


"I'd let you try," he smiled and ducked his head, before giving you a small wave. "Goodnight." You returned with a small wave of your own before shutting the door. You leaned your back against it, letting a huge smile break out over your face now that you were alone and could express your giddiness in private. _‘You have a beautiful smile.'_ Far from alleviating your curiosity about the man, the night had only made you more invested and you were beginning to understand why. You shook you're head and turned off the lights as you practically pranced to the bedroom. It was late, and you were going to be tired as fuck tomorrow, but you found yourself not caring in the slightest.

Arthur traced the rusted room number on your door with his fingertips, the chill in the hallway unnoticed as he basked in the glow of the evening. He couldn’t wait to write about the experience in his journal, tell his therapist even. She would be surprised but not as surprised as him. Arthur Fleck ate dinner with a woman in her apartment. An extraordinary event to be sure, intoxicating in its simplicity, so…normal.  


He grinned and slid his hand down your door til his arm naturally straightened at his waist. He was on cloud nine, a highlight reel running through his mind of the night, of the many times you had laughed and smiled just for him. He spun on his heel, mimicking a dance move he had seen Murray do many a time on his show. His body ached but he couldn’t stop himself from dancing down the hallway quietly, sliding his feet and snapping his fingers to music only he could hear.  
He hoped his mother had seen herself to bed so he could bask more in the bubble of the night, an unbroken stream of joy that could carry him off to sleep. His luck wasn’t such and he felt guilty as he entered his own apartment and saw her asleep in her chair, the tv playing reruns of the news. She had waited up for him because she cared about him, he shouldn’t want her to be gone.  


Biting down his disappointing return to reality, he made himself smile as he walked over and gently shook her awake. “Mom,” he said lowly, “C’mon, let’s get you in bed.” She woke slowly, eyes barely fluttering open as she glanced around with the look of the tired and still half asleep.  


“Happy, where have you been…” she started tiredly before her eyes settled on him to widen in shock. She was quickly alert, her paper-thin hands shooting up to cup both sides of his face as she blubbered incoherently. “Happy! What happened?” she exclaimed, eyes darting all over his face as she took him in and her mind began to unravel like it did when faced with the unpleasant.  


Shit. Wrapped up in his joy, he had forgot.  


"It's okay mom. I fell is all," he lied, covering her hands with his own in assurance, making sure to smile to show he was fine. Everything was fine, better than fine.  


"Did you need to go to the hospital?" she continued, slightly calmer but still with a frantic edge to her voice as her hands roamed his face, picking at the band aid above his brow. “Can we afford that Happy?”  


More like could he afford it and no, he couldn’t. He stood before she could peel off the band aid you had placed to look underneath. “I think Ill be okay. I had help,” he said, hoping to calm her nerves so he could bundle her off to bed. He collapsed on his usual spot on the couch and ran a hand through his hair before digging out his cigarettes.  


"Who?” his mother asked, a curious look on her face. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, debating telling her about you, about the night he had. That would lead to more questions however, questions he didn’t feel like answering when all he wanted to do was close his eyes and relive the night in private. So instead he leaned back, sinking into the familiar cushions as he rested his head against the back of the couch to stare upwards, exhaling a large cloud of smoke. He thought of you as he eyed the tendrils of his smoke alighting from the glow of the tv. The scent of your hair and how soft it had been when brushed against his chin, your eyes, your nose, your lips, your smile, your laughter.  


“An angel,” he said, turning his head slightly to look at his mothers perplexed face before giving all his attention to the hazy cloud above him. He imagined you in the pose from the mother Mary candle, hands palm to palm resting against your cheek with your eyes closed. You were naked for all but a halo above your head and a pair of pink lacy panties…  


”An angel helped me.” A foul-mouthed little angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Near Years! I'm a slow updater huh? Don't worry, I'll get there please don't forget me! I actually had about 20k words written for this chapter but decided to cut it in half so I could get this out sooner. Chapter 3 should be out quicker than this since it's already written, I just have to edit it! I want to thank everyone who has left kudos and comments, on days I felt my writing was shit, it really gave me confidence to keep going! So yeah, about the minor changes. Instead of a group of kids, it's more older guys (for a reason) and poor Arthur got beat up more than in the movie because I'm a sucker for the doctoring bit. There will be more little changes like this but like I said, nothing too major. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! <3


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